


Let Me Know the Way

by wardo_wedidit



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Babies, Future Fic, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:24:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4377095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years apart, Harry and Nick find their way back to each other, and attempt to face the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Know the Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Femme (femmequixotic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmequixotic/gifts).



> This fic does jump around a bit time wise so I hope the timeline isn't confusing... I wanted to make this much longer and cover a lot more ground, but I just couldn't do it all justice in the time I had, so I ended up cutting a lot. However, I may follow this up with some lil ficlet nuggets if people seem to like it, because I genuinely have half a whole other fic in my docs that got cut from this one. 
> 
> I genuinely _loved_ all the prompts femmequixotic left me and spent most of the time of this exchange deciding which one to pick! Honestly, I'm not completely convinced I didn't write them myself and forget about it! :) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this!

_let me know the way_

//

Harry had almost forgotten the way a sunny day feels in London. 

It’s one of those magical days when autumn is just starting to crest in, but the sun hasn’t gotten the memo and everything is bright and sunny, but without the stifling, suffocating summer heat. Harry feels just about perfect sitting in his back garden, doing nothing and drinking a latte. 

Just about. 

Something about sunny days in LA always felt cheaper because you just stopped appreciating them the same way, when they happened every day. Which he’d loved at first--who could turn down endless sunshine--but the appeal had worn off after a while. Harry had started craving thunderstorms: the way the sky would go gloomy and overcast, the wind would kick up, the melancholy of it. 

Which is when he first started to realise how much he missed London. 

He thought about it long and hard for a while, about whether this was more about missing a time in his life than a place. If he didn’t miss London really at all, but instead missed being eighteen or nineteen and at the cusp of everything--no weariness in him yet, only pure excitement to meet people and do things and take on the whole world. He decided it was probably a mix of both--he missed London, and he missed having his entire life in front of him. 

He’d brought it up to his mother when he’d flown back for a visit and she’d nearly lost it with giddiness at the mere prospect of Harry moving back to the same country, which he’d about expected. It was only later in the night she and Robin had gone to bed and he was up late talking to Gemma, both of them nursing mugs of tea on the couch, her hands absentmindedly combing through his hair like the same deep talks they’d had when they were just kids. 

“Don’t be stupid, Haz,” she’d said, rolling her eyes when he talked about feeling like he’d worn himself out over all these years, wanting a fresh start he couldn’t get back. “We both know the answer’s looking you straight in your face, if you’d just stop running away from it.”

She’d fixed her signature sharp gaze on him, and just like always, it forced Harry to wake up.

//

Something about being back makes him nervous, after being in LA so long. Anxious butterflies in his stomach, like he’s anticipating something. Maybe a holdover from not really _living_ there for so many years, having to squeeze everything he wanted to do, all the people he wanted to see in a short week and a half. He thinks it’ll calm down with time once he gets used to it more, and in the meantime focuses on getting the house in shape. It definitely needs it, years of neglect and procrastination--easy to do when the stay is short. But at the same time he also knows he’s being stupid… biding time until he really throws himself back into London life. 

It’s only so long before he can put off invites before it’s just downright rude. Pixie texts him one Friday night: _stylessssss come out tonight everyones gonna be there!!!! starting to wonder if youre still alive ahaha xx_ , and because it’s their favourite pub and because Harry just can’t wait anymore, he says yes. 

He spends way too long on his outfit. By the time he gets there, he’s a little worried he’ll be late--not that it would matter, he just doesn’t want it to look like he’s making a big entrance. Like he’s--expecting anything. He doesn’t want any big fanfare.

It’s timed pretty perfectly in the end. Just as he’s walking up, he sees a huddle of people in front, hears Pixie’s cackle, and then the nervous butterflies are back in full force. 

“Styles!” Aimee shouts first, and then it’s like one of those slow-motion moments. Everyone turns around and then he hears Pixie squawk, Daisy squeal, Henry cackle. Gillian gasps and runs over, throwing herself into Harry’s arms, and Harry laughs, stumbling backwards with the force of it, Gillian’s arms around his neck. 

Harry can admit, a little bit of fanfare feels pretty great.

Then everyone’s running over and Harry ends up falling over completely, everyone pawing at him. Everyone’s talking at once and people are clapping him on the back, Alexa punches him in the arm, and for a second Harry can’t even speak. His face hurts from smiling. 

The evening air is cool, the London streetlamps are just coming on. Harry’s home. 

“We’d thought you’d _died_ , Styles!” Emily says, pushing him hard enough that he stumbles, laughing. 

“Yeah, thought maybe you moving to London was just tabloid fodder after all,” Aimee says, accompanied by her characteristic, knowing eyebrow raise. Ian, on the other hand, looks happy and oblivious. 

“Nope, it’s for real,” Harry confirms, smiling, and it feels good to say. Especially with the way they all smother him with affection immediately. 

Someone suggests that they move inside to get a table and Harry nods along, bites the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. He knows it’s stupid, and he shouldn’t ask for more than the picture-perfect homecoming, but--

“Hiya.”’

Nick is the same. Well, mostly. There’s a few more lines around his eyes, a couple of gray flecks in his hair around his temples that Nick would _kill him_ for bringing up. But his legs are still long and his smile is still wry and yet somehow warm, inviting. He’s still messing with his quiff with his long fingers, still has a gorgeous smattering of freckles across his nose and around his hairline. Harry manages to not go breathless, but he can’t help the way his eyes light up. 

Nick sidles up and slings an arm around Daisy’s neck, casual as ever. “You’re back?” he asks, chewing gum on the side of his mouth. 

“Yep,” Harry chirps, somehow feeling like an over-anxious seventeen year old again, the way he was all those years ago when he met Nick for the first time. Jittery and excited. He shoves his hands in his pockets in an attempt to make them stop shaking and rocks back on his heels. “Back. For good.”

Harry’s stomach flips as he watches Nick’s smile spread a little wider, and yet somehow it feels more intimate. It’s the smile Harry thinks of as his own, stupidly. “Sounds good,” he says, and Harry lets his own grin break out. It feels like the whole city has paused for a moment, and the air is electric. 

“Bleedin’ hell, I need a drink if the night’s gonna go like this,” Henry mutters, rolling his eyes and pushing on Nick’s back. “Let’s goooooooo, I need a pint and now Grimmy owes me one!”

Nick ducks his head, as he goes, but Harry catches his blush. It makes him feel a little bit triumphant.

//

The night goes fast because it feels like everyone wants to catch up with Harry and talk to him. It’s one of those things where he feels like his brain is running a million miles an hour, keeping up with everything. It makes him feel much drunker than he is. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to spend much time with Nick, much to his chagrin. He thought that moment outside was going to lead to something, but everyone wants his attention, and that’s fair. 

It’s not like he hasn’t seen these people, but it hasn’t been the same lately. He’s been living in LA forever, but he used to come back here much more in the earlier days. Then after Zayn quit, and the band took a break that winter that they still haven’t come off of six-and-a-half years later. Harry put out a solo album two years after they went separate ways, then went on tour, and just… all of those things felt like he had to be based in California for them to work. Either because that’s where the industry was or because the paps were so crazy, but now he’s twenty-seven and everything just feels… settled. The papers don’t really care about him so much anymore, despite Aimee’s earlier comment, and no one follows him around when he goes out. The odd fan will still come up and ask for a selfie, but it’s nothing like it used to be. And as much as Harry has learned to call LA home, he started to just _miss_ London in a really deep way he doesn’t know that he’s felt in years. LA started to feel like hiding, like running away. And he got tired of it. 

Everyone keeps buying him drinks, and it makes everything blur together a bit--the conversations feel like they’re running in circles; saying the same things over and over but to different people. Listening to stories and inside jokes he wasn’t apart of, wasn’t here for. Congratulating people on achievements and parts of their lives he hasn’t yet seen. Fuck, Aimee and Ian’s kid is five now, and the last time Harry saw them she was still in nappies. 

These get-togethers are always a bit like musical chairs, but Nick manages to keep his distance, either spending his time at the farthest seat away in the booth or at the bar, fetching everyone drinks. It’s distracting, and Harry feels like half his attention is on Nick the whole night. He wonders if there’s a reason, if Nick is avoiding him on purpose, but whenever Harry catches his eyes he gives him that same private smile, and so Harry can’t work it out.

Finally, later than any of them intended to stay, Nick stands up and rubs his hands on his jeans. “Think ‘m gonna turn in,” he says, and everyone groans. 

“Can’t get out of the routine of early nights, Grimmy?” Daisy teases, laughing and poking at his side, and it hits Harry all over again that Nick doesn’t host Breakfast anymore, which feels newly-- _weird_. Which is stupid, because Harry _knew that_ , but he hasn’t been back to London since Nick switched to drive time and somehow the UK doesn’t feel quite the same, knowing when his alarm goes off tomorrow morning Nick’s voice won’t be on the other end. 

Nick smiles a bit wanly like he’s still not used to it either, even though it’s been a good six months, and shrugs. “Old habits, Daize.”

Then Harry stands up, suddenly and with a little bit of a wobble. He did it before he could really think it through, but it hits him in the gut that this _can’t_ be the end of this night with Nick, without any proper interaction or conversation. This isn’t what we wanted, and if it ends here Harry’s going to go home drunk and sad and with regret curling in his gut. Everyone’s looking at him like he’s gone a bit mad, but that’s not important right now. 

“I’ll go too,” he says, all breathless. “Your place is on the way to mine. Split a taxi?”

Their group has gone _silent_ , and even though there’s still all the chatter and commotion from the rest of the pub, Harry feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room as he watches Nick take a breath, slowly, and let it out. 

Christ, the last time Harry was this scared he was watching Nick smile for the cameras at a party in his honour, everyone cheering his name and clapping, and something heavy and deep and bright had settled into his chest. 

Next thing he knew he was on a plane to LA, and before he knew it he hadn’t seen Nick in years.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, and Harry swears his heart does a completely unnecessary cartwheel in his chest.

They say their goodbyes and then they’re out on the pavement, night fully surrounding them. Nick’s got his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the ground, and it’s silent for a moment except for the crickets as they wait for a cab to pull up. 

“Thought you’d sold that place,” Nick murmurs, knocking the toes of his shoes together. 

Harry focuses on the street ahead of him so hard that the headlights start to blur out, go fuzzy. “Nope. Considered it a few times but just couldn’t ever…” he trails off. 

Nick nods, looks up at him and meets his eyes for what feels like the first time tonight, even though Harry knows that’s not true. Just--this close, it feels different. “Yeah.”

Harry hails a cab and they get in, sitting on opposite sides with the middle seat between them. Nick gives the driver his address and then turns to look out his window, and Harry does the same. 

The lights fly by and Harry feels like he’s holding his breath for something he doesn’t know. His palm is braced on the seat between them, and it feels like forever but then there’s a light touch. 

His head spins around and there it is, Nick’s hand nudged closer and his pinky laid over Harry’s own, simple as anything. Nick’s eyes are still fixed on the world outside, but Harry can see a ghost of a nervous, uncertain smile even though his hand is over his mouth. 

“Can I come in with you?” he asks, all in a rush, and then Nick’s looking at him. Harry swallows hard. “You know, see the old place.”

Nick’s small smile breaks out into a fond, full grin--the kind he always wore when he was just barely resisting rolling his eyes, like he was trying to pretend he didn’t love indulging Harry in his most ridiculous moments. “The place is the same, Harry.”

“I haven’t been there in years,” he says, and it hurts to admit. He strokes his finger over Nick’s own, soft and slow, and watches something flicker in Nick’s eyes that he can’t identify--hurt, or regret--just, something he wants to make go away. 

Nick nods, breaking eye contact again. “Of course you can.”

Harry pays the driver when they get there, and it feels like deja vu stepping out onto Nick’s street. Nick keeps his head down, walks with purpose to the door and unlocks it, opening it without a word and placing his keys on the table in the hallway. Harry follows behind a little slower, skimming his fingers carefully over the walls and surfaces, eyes darting all over the place. 

Because Nick’s wrong. Maybe when you live here every day it’s the same, yeah, but Nick’s flat had always been a subtly shifting collage of his life. He’s always collected bits and pieces of people he loves--a painting from Gillian here, an old Instagrim photo with Matt and Fiona and Ian hung there, a signed poster from Mossy on the mantle. All different little tokens even if most of the big things haven’t changed. 

They didn’t turn on the lights when they walked in, and so everything feels shadowed and hushed. Harry follows Nick’s footsteps carefully, heel-to-toe quiet, until they’re in the living room, and Nick bends down in the corner and then--

There’s a subtle buzz and everything’s cast in a blue-green glow, and there they are, just standing in front of each other silently, and there are tears stinging Harry’s eyes for absolutely no reason. 

Nick smiles at him, almost carelessly, a sort of _what can you do_ as he shrugs, and Harry lets out a helpless, slightly hysterical laugh. 

“ _Nick--_ ” he chokes out, but Nick cuts him off. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispers, hands shaking a bit at his sides. “Like, I _fully_ can’t believe you’re here for good, Haz.” His voice trembles, like it takes a lot for him to admit, and it’s all Harry can do to nod frantically. 

“I am, Nick. I’m here.”

They stare into each other’s eyes for a long second and then Harry can’t take it anymore, letting out a noise close to a choked sob and stepping forward, reaching for Nick and pulling him in, kissing him for the first time in so, so long. 

Nick melts into it, sighs, and cups Harry’s face with his hands in a way that makes Harry want to cry--his touch is so hesitant, so gentle and so--so fucking _reverent_ , like Harry’s this precious thing. It’s the last straw, and it’s just a few seconds before Harry can feel the tears spilling down onto his cheeks. 

“ _Fuck_ , Harry manages when Nick pulls away from his mouth only to get the spot behind his ear that Nick knows makes him shiver. “Can we--your bed--”

“Same place as ever,” Nick says, panting a bit, and Harry groans as he fumbles with the buttons on Nick’s shirt. He stops when Nick braces his hands on Harry’s sides, kissing his lips again and walking them backwards down the hallway. 

They shed their clothes on the way until they’re both naked and falling into the already tangled sheets of Nick’s bed. Harry’s underneath and Nick’s just kissing him forever and ever, for ages, before he even reaches for the bedside table and Harry gasps, eyes closing deliciously against the cold slipperiness of Nick’s fingers. Nick’s other hand scratches down his side in a slow burn, and he’s got his mouth fixed on Harry’s collarbone, leaving marks on the swallows. 

It’s so new and familiar all at once, Nick’s touch inside him, the way he still remembers just what Harry likes and what makes him go boneless, pliant with want. When Harry thought of this--well, to be honest, he didn’t think of this at _all_. He hadn’t imagined they’d make it back here tonight, because for some reason at the pub and in the cab everything had felt like so much _pressure_ and now, now this just feels like. Like finally sitting down after being on your feet all day, or putting on a cosy jumper and thick socks when winter sets in, or making someone laugh. 

“Can I--” Nick breathes into Harry’s mouth, and it’s all he can do to whimper, nod like mad. He can’t even form a full word. 

And then Nick’s fumbling with a condom for a second and then pushing inside him, and Harry gasps, groans into it. “Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Nick whispers, voice cracking like he’s already on edge. 

“Missed you so much,” Harry chokes out as Nick gives Harry a minute to adjust, looking down at him and smoothing Harry’s hair off his forehead. And that sounds--bad, really, but he hopes Nick knows that Harry means _all_ of it, feels like he’s been missing him for years, really, only stopped when Nick had looked at him all rueful in the blue light of the _Enjoy_ sign, utterly honest. 

Nick groans, starts to move at a steady pace that’s not quite slow, not quite fast, but is going to get Harry there in no time at all. “You have no idea,” he replies, last bit coming out a little like a moan, and then they’re silent for a while, letting their fragile breaths and gasps do the talking. 

They soon become moans and cries as Nick speeds up, like it’s a Sunday-best sort of fuck. Like a shameless hotel room lovers or teenagers who’ve never had the house to themselves. Harry’s legs are around Nick’s waist and Nick’s head is buried in Harry’s neck, and something from Nick’s windows is bright and reflecting off Nick’s ceiling, spinning, looking almost like a kaleidoscope, and it’s all Harry can see. It’s like a song he can just barely remember--he’d nicked it from Nick’s iTunes, he thinks, back when they’d just met. Something indie, alternative… it’d had lots of bells, anyway, and when their first tour had gone on so much longer than they’d expected, Harry had listened to it night after night as he tried to fall asleep. 

He's drunk. He's so drunk, and then Nick thrusts just right so that Harry feels like he might _die_ if he doesn't come soon, and then Nick does it again and again. He's drunk, and everything feels so good, and he's moaning "Nick, god, Nick, _fuck_ \--" and he's crying, again, and Nick's saying "Love you, love you," all urgent breath, and Harry's crying and coming and then so is Nick, not far behind. 

They're both panting and Nick goes to pull out but Harry clings to him for a second, hands insistent on his back. He tips his head up slow and Nick kisses him, slow and careful the way they weren't at all, before. 

Harry lets go and Nick rolls onto his side, reaching for the sheet and pulling it up around the both of them. 

"Hey," Harry says, yawning a bit as he turns over so he's facing Nick, arm pillowed under his head. "Tomorrow, you don't have to get up for radio."

Nick looks at him, puzzled, and then laughs, bright and full-bodied in a way that makes Harry's butterflies return. "You're right, love," he says. "Got me all to yourself all morning."

"Good," Harry says decisively, nuzzling closer, snuggling them together until he can feel their breaths working in tandem. Nick will get hot and pull away before long, but for now he seems more than happy to wind an arm around Harry's waist and sigh, letting his eyes drift closed. 

"Hey," Harry whispers into the dark, when he's certain that Nick's asleep. He strokes a light, careful finger down Nick's long, tapered nose. "Love you too."

//

Harry wakes up in the morning in the middle of the bed. He blinks to the bleariness from his eyes and stretches his arms above his head, yawns. 

When he concentrates, he can hear Nick puttering around in the kitchen, pans clanging and the radio chattering on low. It smells like eggs and bacon, and Harry’s pleasantly sore, and the sun’s streaming in from overhead, and he feels more relaxed than he has in months. 

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and sets his feet on the floor, biting down on his grin as he hears Nick singing along to whatever’s playing--enthusiastic and off-key, of course. 

But Harry’s hearing strings. 

He reaches for his phone and tweets, _And still they lead me back… xx_

It gets approximately 65,000 favorites when it’s all said and done. But only one that he cares about.

//

They take Pig for a walk out on the Hill, even though London’s returned to its usual gloomy self. It’s not supposed to rain, but of course it does, and they’re both lucky they’ve brought their raincoats. 

Harry had forgotten, in their time apart, how easy it is to just _be_ with Nick. The way they can talk, comfortably and without any sort of self-consciousness to it. Harry had wondered, maybe, with this new permanence they both haven’t talked about in so many words but can _feel_ , in their bones, things might be different. He thanks the universe that they aren’t.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Harry asks when they’re sitting in the grass talking about their time apart. Talking around it, rather, in circles, like the big crazy circles Pig is running, completely undeterred by the thunder and downpour. Just dipping their toes in, to start. Rain from Harry’s hood is dripping down into his face in a way he’s sure makes it look like he’s crying. “Like, I know this is dumb, but when things started going well at sixteen I thought, _Nice, I’ll just ride this until it runs out._ And then it was _really_ going well and I thought, _I’ll just do this forever, then._ ” He turns to face Nick. “How fucking stupid is that?”

Nick smiles small and private, picking at the grass and not meeting Harry’s eye. “You were like, eighteen, Haz. We’re all naive at eighteen.” 

“Yeah, but--” he sighs, trying to find the words as he turns back to watch Pig amble around. She’s not as quick as she used to be, anymore, old age setting a bit in a way that makes Harry sad and a little nervous. “It’s just weird, innit. When you’ve lived your dream and it’s ended. What comes next?”

It’s an oversimplification and they both know it. Harry hasn’t performed in a few years but he’s not doing _nothing_ ; he’s writing with people and helping produce and he’s still making music, which is more than he could say if he had never auditioned for The X Factor. But it’s the same for Nick--he’s still on telly, he’s still on radio, but he’s not on Breakfast anymore. They looked their most far-fetched daydreams in the eye and made them happen, and now here they are. 

“You know that moment when you realise it’s not gonna last forever?” Nick asks so, so softly. “LIke, when Ian and Finchy left was the first time it hit me how bloody--lightning in a bottle it all is. Doing exactly what you want with people you really love.” 

Harry scoots closer to him, looping his arm through Nick’s and resting his head on Nick’s shoulder. Just for a minute. No one’s out anyway--Primrose Hill isn’t exactly the most sought-after destination on what’s shaping up to be the rainiest day of the year so far.

“It just never occurs to me that I could be on the verge of losing someone,” Harry admits. “I get so happy and caught up in my life that I forget to notice when people need to move on.” He clears his throat. “That’s what happened with Zayn, anyway.”

“It worked out, though,” Nick suggests, nudging Harry in the side. “You’re all still friends. You’re all happy. You could do a reunion tour at the drop of a hat and sit back, rake in the millions.”

Harry laughs, loud and genuine. That’s one of the things he loves most about Nick, he thinks. It can be hard to drag him into deep conversation, sometimes, but once he’s there he always knows just when to lighten things. 

He leans in, kisses the top of Harry’s head. “People have a way of finding their way back to each other, when it matters,” he murmurs, and Harry marvels silently at the way Nick always understands what he means, even when he’s making a mess of saying it. 

It’s so close to what Harry tweeted this morning that he can’t speak, for a minute. 

Then he tilts his head up, looks Nick straight in the eye, and says, “I don’t wanna drift away from you again, Nick.” 

It’s so fucking _hard_ to say, for some reason. It feels like--too much. They’ve always let so many things go unspoken between them, but then maybe that’s one of the reasons they lost each other in the first place. Harry doesn’t want to take that chance. 

Nick swallows hard, blinks, but doesn’t look away. “We won’t, love.”

It’s so certain that Harry has to let out a breath, lean forward and kiss Nick, right there in the open in the middle of a London downpour, just for a second. 

When Nick kisses him back, slower and softer than Harry began it, he can’t help but feel like it’s not too much to ask, of the universe. They can do this, this time. Harry’s never been more sure of it. 

They stop at a little cafe on the way home to warm up, and Nick buys them both coffees while Harry waits on the corner with Pig. He presses the cardboard cup into Harry’s hand and says, “Let’s go home,” with a smile, and Harry feels the warmth of it in his bones. 

//

 

 

 

//

Harry would swear that time passes differently in London. 

In LA, he could sometimes feel like it would take ages to stretch for a single day to stretch by. But now, back in London ( _and back with Nick,_ his brain adds, still so giddy about it), hours turn into days turn into months in no time at all. And then a year has gone by.

He mentions it to Gemma, who just smirks at him. “Yeah, Haz. That’s what happens when you’re happy.”

And Harry _is_ happy. Happier than he’s been in years. It doesn’t even seem to matter what they’re doing--Harry is just as content lazing around on a Sunday, watching crap telly as he is going to a party full of their friends, chatting and dancing and drinking all night. 

They don’t go out as much as they used to when they were younger, but when they do, it’s better. The paps don’t bother them, and no one’s angling for selfies or autographs. 

But some things stay the same. 

Tonight, they’re having one of those nights they used to have so often that it feels a little bit like deja vu… Where they come stumbling in half-drunk, hands all over each other as they tumble onto Nick’s bed, laughing the whole time. It’s not even sexual, honestly, they’re just high on each other in a way that Harry missed _so_ much, when he was away, even though that feeling of missing out is slipping further and further away now, thank god. But still, just being with Nick, and how natural it always is. How much fun they have. 

He doesn’t know why it’s hitting him so hard tonight, that he was away so long. That they were apart. Even though it’s been ten months together, sometimes Harry really feels the time he missed. Like an ache in his gut. Just wishing that he could have gotten here a little bit faster. 

“Hey,” Nick giggles a bit, reaching out and gently touching Harry’s cheek with such utter concentration that it makes Harry laugh too. 

“What are you _doing_?”

“Shurrup,” Nick laughs, almost holding his breath for a minute before pulling away. Harry’s eyes blur for a minute before they focus again. “Eyelash,” Nick says, suddenly quiet and serious. 

“Oh,” Harry breathes, closing his eyes and blowing it away. 

Before he opens his eyes again, Nick is on top of him, kissing him, fast and hungry and Harry feels breathless, like all the wind has been knocked out of him. 

“Nick,” he sighs, melting into it, “Nick--”

“What did you wish for?” Nick asks suddenly, pulling back and pushing Harry’s hair out of his face, and Harry can’t help but burst out laughing at the question, pushing Nick off of him and back onto his side. 

“You _arse_ , you’re not supposed to ask that!” he giggles, hitting Nick without any force just to see the way his eyes crinkle as he tries to bat Harry away. 

“Not like it matters, think you’ve used up your share of granted wishes for this lifetime,” Nick says, cheeks pink with laughter. He’s looking at Harry so--doting, so fond, so open and happy that Harry wants to bottle it up for rainy days. 

He reaches up, thumbing at the hinge of Nick’s jaw. “You’re right. You take my wish.”

Nick rolls his eyes, his hand smoothing over Harry’s stomach, slow. It makes something hot and desperate curl in Harry’s gut, needy. “I don’t need it either, Haz, god.”

“What, you’re all out of wishes?” Harry teases, giggling. “Too _old_ for them?”

That makes Nick’s face go faux-offended, pouting at Harry and taking his hand away, which makes Harry whine against his will. “‘M not too _old_ , it’s just a secret,” he says and then, well, now Harry _has_ to know. 

“Ooh ooh, let me guess!” Harry replies, sitting up and curling around Nick’s back like a monkey. He presses a kiss to the base of Nick's neck, just because. "You want to be the the next Zane Lowe. Universally respected musical opinions, big projects, edgy and cool and..." 

Nick makes a face, pushing Harry aside as he trails off, lying down and sprawling out a bit. "There, you've had your try, now can we sleep please?"

"One more," Harry insists, brow furrowed, until it hits him. "Alan Carr! You want to have a proper chat show and make everyone laugh and drool over Justin Bieber up close and personal and make cheeky jokes to see if he gets it."

And it's weird, but the more Harry talks the more Nick seems to frown. This hadn't meant to get like--serious. He doesn't know what he could have said wrong. It's not like he was suggesting pie-in-the-sky futures, these are all things Nick could have, if he wanted them. Harry blinks, lies down next to Nick, frowning himself now at feeling so lost. 

“Heyyyyy,” Harry whines, trying to play it off like this is all still a joke as he tugs at the collar of Nick's shirt. “Honestly, Nick. Tell me. If you had one wish for the future.”

Harry knows they’re too drunk to be having this conversation, but he doesn’t expect Nick to go white as a sheet and _scared_ , like Harry’s just revealed some horrible secret about himself and Nick can never look at him the same again. Part of him wants to take it back, now, because it wasn’t supposed to be-- _this_ \--but he feels frozen in place, shocked and unable to move.

"Haz," Nick says, and he's trembling, Harry can see from this close--"I want a kid."

Harry breathes deep and just... doesn't know what to say. "Nick--"

"I know," Nick says, voice wobbly and broken like he's about to start crying, and he covers his hands with his face. Harry thinks he can feel his heart break, just then. "I know, it's--it's a lot." He lets out a shaky breath and Harry feels tears forming, stinging his eyes. 

"How would we..." Harry starts, because _God,_ they've been together just under a year but they haven't, like. Come out. Made it public. And that's something you do when you have a kid, without a doubt. And generally, you live together, and you're married. 

Those come as an afterthought, funnily enough. Maybe because he already wants to do those things so much he’d do them tomorrow, so they don’t seem like it’s as big of a deal. 

There maybe isn't anything he wants more than a child with Nick, but there's just so many hurdles to get there. 

He's shaken out of his own thoughts when Nick's body shifts, turning away from Harry to face the edge of the bed instead, his back shaking like he's sobbing. 

"Nick," Harry chokes out, feeling himself start to cry and his voice shake. He scoots closer, reaches out with tentative fingers to touch Nick's back. He doesn't know why he's so nervous, he loves Nick, it's just... hard to talk about. Because Harry wants it _so_ much, and there's no good reason why not, except. Except it would change everything. And it scares the _shit_ out of him. 

"I'm--it's okay, Haz," Nick chokes, still turned away, more composed but still sniffling. Abruptly, Harry feels like an idiot and shuffles closer until his body is bracketing Nick’s and their fingers tangled together. “We don’t have to talk about it tonight.”

“ _Nick_ ,” Harry says, hearing the emotion in his own voice. This isn’t what he wants--both of them going to sleep feeling shitty without resolving anything. 

“Seriously, Haz,” Nick says with a self-deprecating laugh, getting out of bed and heading to the en-suite. “I just wanna go to bed, okay?”

Harry listens as he pads into the bathroom, turns on the tap and washes his face. He sits up in bed, hugging his knees with the sheets puddled around him. He doesn’t know how this happened, how he went from feeling so close to so far away in such a short span of time. 

Nick returns after a few minutes, slipping into the bed like nothing happened. “G’night,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss the side of Harry’s head and then reaching up to turn off the light, lying down on his side. 

Harry does the same, letting out a sigh into the darkness. “Nick,” he whispers, trying to focus on his breathing. “I love you.”

Nick doesn’t say anything, just sighs and reaches out to grab Harry’s hand. He squeezes their fingers together tightly, and Harry lets out the breath he was holding. 

//

In the morning when Harry wakes up, Nick is gone. 

He normally wouldn’t worry, but after the way they left things last night Harry does feel slightly nervous for a moment before he checks his phone. Apparently whoever’s doing Breakfast is sick and they called Nick and asked if he could cover, so he’s at the radio. Knowing alleviates Harry’s anxiety a little bit, but he can’t help but feel a little wobbly about it all still. 

He just feels so goddamn _stupid_. All, _oh, yeah, if you could have one thing in the world what would it be_ , knowing full well that Nick’s always wanted to be a dad. He knew they were too drunk to be having that conversation, and yet he stormed right into it with guns blazing, and now Harry’s feeling lost and Nick’s probably feeling hurt. 

He reaches to the bedside table, turns on the radio, and just like that Nick’s voice fills the room, laughing to Fiona about something or other, and for a second it’s just like old times. 

“Oh my god, Fifi, you really think Justin Bieber’s gonna get divorced? It’s only been--what? Producer Andrew? A month? Four weeks?”

And then they’re all laughing, and it makes Nick feel a little better. It’s nice, he thinks, that they managed to get Fiona on while Nick’s covering Breakfast. It makes him feel about nineteen years old again. 

And just as in love with Nick as ever. 

Harry sighs, covering his face with his hands, letting himself breathe just for a minute before he gets up and faces the day. 

//

When Harry comes home from running errands, Nick is already there in the kitchen, flitting around and singing along to the new Drake track as he stirs something on the hob. 

“Hey,” Harry says, mouth stretching into a smile as Nick turns around, sucking a bit of pasta sauce off his fingers. “What’s for tea?”

Nick smiles, a little hesitantly as Harry sets his bags on the counter. “Have you lost your sight, Haz?” he asks as he leans in, presses a quick kiss on Harry’s cheek before turning his gaze back to the hob. “What’d you get?”

Harry looks down at the bags. “Oh…”

He’d hoped to get a little further on into the night before doing this. Looking at down at them makes him immediately nervous, “I just, um. Got some things, for, like…”

He trails off as Nick gives him a weird look, reaching into the crinkly plastic. “What are you--”

He goes silent as Nick pulls out the book, big words emblazoned on the cover. _What to Expect: The First Year_. His eyes shoot to Harry, mouth wide open and eyes unreadable. 

Harry swallows hard. “I know that’s getting a little ahead of ourselves--I mean, that’s not all, look.” He pulls out some pamphlets--considering adoption, thinking about surrogacy--and finally two little pairs of Marc Jacobs booties, one in pink and one in blue. When he looks at Nick again, he’s still slack-jawed. 

“I thought better safe than sorry,” he shrugs. “They were too cute to pass up.”

Nick turns the booties over. “Harold… These are Marc Jacobs.”

Harry blushes a little because yes, he’s aware of this, and he knows it’s a little bit ridiculous to spend fifty quid on _one_ pair of booties for a kid they don’t have yet, let alone two. “Um, yeah.”

Nick is still looking at the booties in a way Harry’s never seen before. It’s like a mixture of confusion and disbelief and something else he can’t put his finger on. Then he looks up, and Harry doesn’t know what to do. “Harry…” he tries, and Harry can hear he’s on the verge of tears. When he looks down, Nick’s hands are shaking. 

So Harry just _goes_ , wraps Nick up in a tight hug until his breaths even out and he feels a little more solid, pulls away. “What is all this,” he asks, breathless, wiping at his eyes, and Harry rolls his eyes fondly like this whole gesture wasn’t completely blindingly obvious. 

“I just, I know I didn’t have the best reaction last night when we talked about this, and I thought. I wanted to show you I want this too.”

Nick’s face is doing a helpless, lost thing that Harry can’t take. “But--I didn’t say we had to do it _now_ , Haz. Don’t you want to, like, _talk_ about this, discuss whether or not this is the right time and, I dunno, everything? I mean, we’re not exactly _out_ \--”

Harry frowns. “We’re not exactly _in_ , either.”

Nick disconnects himself, laughing and stepping back a bit. He’s still smiling, still happy. Harry’s learned from experience that sometimes Nick needs a little bit of distance to say exactly what he wants when it’s important. 

These are things he didn’t get to know before a year ago, really, and every time he discovers one he can’t help but feel a little victorious and very, very lucky. 

“Yeah, love, but there’s a difference between going out together and living together when no one’s papping you or chasing you around, asking for a selfie, and being officially out. And I _know_ you’ve been working on like, doing some more music stuff, maybe, or at least thinking about it, and if you get back into it who’s to say it’s not going to explode all over again?”

Harry frowns, leaning back against the countertop. This hadn’t gone the way he was expecting. He was expecting the tears and the tight embrace from earlier, but not all this _logic_ and planning. Don’t they want the same thing, here? He takes a deep breath and tries not to get defensive. “Nick, I’ve--I’ve done all that, already, you know? And no, when you brought it up last night it wasn’t exactly where my mind was, but. I’ve thought about it all day, alright? About what it would be like to be a dad with you.”

He steps forward, taking one of Nick’s hands in his own and playing with his fingers, keeping his gaze fixed on them to keep himself from watching Nick’s face obsessively, willing to do anything to win him over. They’re closer than they were before, and he finds his next words come out a whisper. “I want it _so much_ , Nick. Like, and I think I always sort of wanted it, thought about it sometimes when I was with you, but I didn’t feel like I could fully let myself have it, you know? And now, I can.”

He looks up, and Nick’s eyes are filled with unshed tears again. He should feel confident, like he’s won Nick over, but that’s almost too petty a feeling for what this is. It just feels good, to be able to be honest and know that Nick wants the same thing. “We’ll figure everything else out as we go along, you know? The most important thing is that we both _want_ this. And like, we’ve never done things in the right order, right? Why start now?”

That makes him laugh, head thrown back, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes. “You are _so ridiculous_ ,” Nick breathes once he’s caught his breath, one hand cupping the back of Harry’s neck and pressing their foreheads together. He leans in, kisses Harry slow and sweet, and romantic, and they only move when they hear the pasta sauce boil over, jumping apart and laughing, giddy. 

“We’re doing this,” Harry says, grinning as he watches Nick nearly burn his fingers trying to clean up the mess they’ve made. 

Nick grins back, looking absolutely radiant, and the word comes out as natural as breathing. “Yeah.”

And Harry thinks he’s never seen Nick so happy.

//

 

 

 

//

“Want a cup of tea, Haz?” Zayn calls as he heads into the kitchen, through the quiet house. Last time Harry was here the place was jumping with activity, but now it’s just a typical Wednesday afternoon. Perrie’s at playgroup with Alia, so Zayn said it was the perfect time for Harry to come over and work on the songs they’ve been toying with for a while now. Harry had initially been a bit sad he’d miss the baby, but then thought with everything going on it was probably for the best. 

“Um, sure!” he calls back, fiddling gently with the strings of the guitar in his lap. 

Zayn’s back instantly, grinning shyly even after all these years they’ve known each other, same as always. “Took so long to answer I just got you one. Lemon and honey, just like old times?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry says, a little sheepish, but sipping his tea, burning his tongue in his haste not to have to speak. 

Zayn watches him with the same big, careful eyes that Harry’s spent a lot of time avoiding in their friendship. Zayn takes a sip from his own mug, eyes still glued to Harry. “All gone off in your head, babes,” he says, voice soft. “Y’alright?”

Harry sighs, heavier than he thought he had in him, and swallows hard, the words coming out of him before he’s even really decided to say them. “‘S just, the baby stuff, you know? It’s--it’s really hard.”

Zayn nods, waits. He’s always been good at that, letting him get the words out in his own time instead of trying to fill in the blanks like Liam would, or urging him good-naturedly to get on with it, like Louis would. “We’ve been working with adoption agencies for like, a year, and talking with all these surrogates, and it’s just. Our lifestyles, our work schedules and all that… They don’t exactly make us the ideal candidates, you know?”

“Any baby’d be lucky to have you and Grimmy, though,” Zayn adds, shrugging, not meeting Harry’s eyes and staring pensively into his mug instead. “Someone will realise that, sooner or later, Haz.”

“No one wants to give their baby to a couple famous people,” he says, the frustration just tumbling out of him, sounding much more angry than he knew he was. “No one wants to see it all over the tabloids or in magazine covers, have to watch the baby you gave up grow up in the spotlight. How do you--how do you put a kid through that, Zayn?” he asks, wiping at his eyes, so much more choked up than he thought he’d be talking about this. 

Zayn looks at him, silent but soft. They don’t need words for Harry to know he understands--Zayn of all people _gets_ it, the way the harsh glare of the camera flashes and the constant attention can leave you blinded and bruised. He’s stepped back now, not just One Direction but a wildly successful solo career under his belt that he’ll get back to when he feels like, happier at the moment to watch his two-year-old grow up as much as he can. 

Harry’s maybe always been a bit envious of Zayn, for that. The _control_ he always seemed to have, the masterful way he was always able to hide away from everyone for weeks on end, and then come back to it all and everyone would be screaming for him just as loud. Harry’s never--he’s never been able to _do_ that. Like so many other things in his life, it’s had to be all or nothing. He doesn’t know how to navigate it any other way. 

“I just--I guess I’m an idiot for thinking we’d have a kid by now. Like, it’s been a _year_ , since we decided,” Harry finishes, sniffing a little. 

Zayn laughs. “Mate, it took ten months for Perrie and I to get pregnant with Alia. And it was all stupid, the doctors said it was literally just stress. We were psyching ourselves out, you know? Just, I don’t think that part ever happens when you think it will. For anyone. Like, look at Tommo.”

Harry nods. He’s spent a lot of time thinking about Louis lately, the way he wanted to marry Eleanor so bad and then broke up out of nowhere, and it seemed like a baby just dropped right into his lap. Harry definitely didn’t think of it like that at the time, but lately, he’s been thinking about it a lot. 

Jack is now four years old and the liveliest kid Harry’s ever met--all hands in mud puddles and ice cream down his shirt, and Louis loves him fiercely. Even though it wasn’t ideal, at the time. 

It makes Harry wonder if timing is really all it’s cracked up to be, in the end.

“Babes, trust me, you’ll have a kid before you know it and then you’ll be _wishing_ for the days that you and Grim could just chill out, hungover on a Saturday with the telly on, and do nothing,” Zayn laughs, voice a bit lighter. 

And that mental image does make Harry laugh, because maybe Zayn knows them both much too well. “Nah, I won’t,” he murmurs, plucking at a couple of the strings so they reverberate in the air, simple and light. 

Zayn grins at him so wide his eyes go crinkly, make him look about seventeen again. “Nah, you won’t.” Zayn loves Alia to the moon and back and the whole world knows it--loves her big dark eyes and strong brow, her little grabby hands and slow smile. 

He leans back, picking his own guitar back up again, grabbing the pencil from behind his ear and tapping it on the legal pad between them, half-scribbled lyrics to a song they’ve been puzzling over for months. “God, before you know it all of One Direction are going to be dads.”

“Liam and Soph probably have about a year. Li says she has a bit of cold feet about it,” Harry replies, feeling a little more settled now that the serious talk is over. Nick’s rubbing off on him that way. 

“Won’t be long Haz, mark my words,” Zayn says, laughing. “Niall too. You’ll see.”

//

“Hello?” Harry calls, uncertain as he walks through the door. He hears Nick talking in the middle of a sentence--he’s on the phone, so Harry takes his time saying hi to Pig and putting all his stuff away before going to spruce up in the bathroom a bit. 

They’re going out tonight, and Harry’s a little bit excited. It’ll be good for them, not to sit around at home waiting for the phone to ring. Anyway, it’s some restaurant that just opened and Nick’s _dying_ to try, but the downside is it’s nice and he can’t just go in a pair of Nick’s old joggers and a threadbare t-shirt. Nick’s still on the phone, talking fast and high about something. Harry can’t hear the details, but he still laughs to himself thinking about how if Nick were here he’d be making cracks about Harry stealing his clothes. 

He’s changed his shirt three times before he’s satisfied, which takes a while. It’s a little strange that Nick hasn’t come back, but Harry doesn’t think much of it, just walks out into the kitchen without a second thought. 

“Hey, are you ready to go already? I thought you were gonna wear that shirt you stole from Henry--”

Nick doesn’t move when Harry enters. His hands are clutching the countertop so hard his knuckles have gone white, and he’s staring out the window like he’s not even here. “Nick?” Harry tries, soft and hesitant, and when Nick turns to face him he can see the tears welled in his eyes. 

“Sorry,” Nick says, all shaky, “sorry, sorry--”

And Harry doesn’t know what to do but he goes to him anyway, wraps his arms around Nick from behind and rests his chin on Nick’s shoulder, hugs him tight.

“Aimee’s pregnant again,” Nick says into the silence, and Harry’s heart sinks. 

“Oh, Nick--”

Nick turns in Harry’s arms, hiding his face in his neck and letting out a wracked, messy sob that feels like it’s been stuck in there for a while. Harry runs his fingers through his hair and breathes, slow and deep, rocking side to side a bit as he feels Nick’s grip on him tighten. 

“I’m so--so happy,” Nick gasps, trying for a smile that doesn’t quite get there. “Honestly, Haz, I’m only crying because I’m so ha-happy--”

“I know,” Harry murmurs into his hair. “I know.”

It’s just the two of them in the kitchen like that, for a little while, until Nick quiets and pulls away, putting some space between him. His smile is sad when he takes Harry in. “I’ve ruined your shirt.”

Harry laughs a little, shrugs. “Not the end of the world, love. Got plenty more.”

Nick’s smile goes animates a bit, goes a little more real. “But none quite so terrible.”

It startles a real laugh out of Harry, head thrown back and all. Nick’s got his arms around Harry’s neck and sighs, shaky as all the tension works its way out of him and leaves him looking exhausted, drained. 

“We don’t have to go out tonight, you know,” Harry suggests, voice low. “Could order some takeaway, put on some telly…”

Nick shrugs, looking defeated. “It’s fine.”

Harry frowns. “Nick.”

Nick disentangles himself, removing himself from Harry’s touch and heading toward the bedroom. “No reason to stay in Haz, it’s fine.”

And then Harry’s left in the kitchen, feeling completely alone and utterly helpless. 

//

“You know, you don’t have to do this,” Nick murmurs later. He’s flopped out onto the bed, still fully dressed as Harry undresses slowly--hanging up his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt. 

He freezes, heart practically stopping in his chest. “What do you mean?”

“Just, the whole baby thing,” Nick sighs heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’d been quiet through most of dinner, something a little hollow in his eyes in a way that had made a lump form in Harry’s throat. Their meal had been nice enough, but the whole time Harry had just felt like calling for the bill and taking Nick home, going straight to bed and hiding under the covers from the world. “I understand if it’s too much,” Nick’s continuing, and Harry can’t breathe. 

“ _Nick_.”

“I’m giving you an out,” Nick says, sitting up and looking desperate. “It’s really hard, and it’s only gonna get harder, and you didn’t ask for this--”

“ _Ask_ for this?”

“I just mean, like, if I rushed you into this or whatever, you can leave and I won’t--well, I’ll probably feel really shitty about it honestly, but I’d understand, okay? I wouldn’t hold it against you.” Nick crosses his legs, fiddling with his fingers and looking down at the bed. 

Harry clambers up on it, and Nick makes a whine, reaching out. “Harold, your shoes are on the bed--”

“ _Fuck_ the bed,” Harry says with feeling, kneeling in front of Nick, unperturbed as Nick rolls his eyes. “I need you to listen to me for a minute.”

Nick sighs, meeting his gaze with something determined in his eyes, like he’s sure he’s going to have to stand his ground. There’s also something nervous there too, though--something Harry wouldn’t have identified years ago. God, Nick plays everything so close to the chest and it makes Harry want to wrap him up until they forget whose limbs are whose. 

"The first time I knew I loved you--like, want to be with you forever, loved you," Harry whispers, half a laugh, reaching out to take Nick's face in his hands. "It was at your Topman launch party."

Nick is uncharacteristically still and it's making Harry nervous. There are unshed tears in his eyes, and Harry can barely breathe. This feels so, so much scarier than pretty much everything else they've ever done--even starting this up was scary but Harry feels like it must he been a cake walk compared to this. 

"You were just, there, you know, and I felt like I hadn't seen you in ages, and you were so goddamn happy, Nick. Like, there's only one other time I've seen you that happy." 

Harry didn't even have to say it, just like that he can see the understanding in Nick's eyes and then watches the way he looks down, breaking their gaze. Like he's embarrassed. Which is the last thing Harry wants. 

"And you were surrounded by everyone who loves you, and they were all so happy for you too, and you were just--God, I swear you were fucking glowing, Nick. I was so in awe of you, and I thought, I wanna marry him." Nick meets his eyes again, something sad and desperate in them, and Harry's thumbs swipe at the fallen tears on his cheeks. 

"Haz," Nick says, hoarse. "I can't--"

"I'm sorry I ran away," Harry blurts out, crying now too. "I was twenty-one, and I was terrified, and I had everything anyone should ever want except you, and I thought it would be enough."

"Harry," Nick says in the tone Harry's heard a dozen times, usually when he wants to do something stupid and reckless and Nick is trying to talk him out of it. "You don't have to apologise for that, okay? We both know we needed that like, space. Or time, or whatever."

"I didn't know how to feel about you," Harry continues, this time the one to look away, pressing his wrists against his eyes and taking a shaky breath. "I still don't. I want you so much Nick, it fucking scares me to death." He makes himself meet Nick's eyes. "I want to marry you, and have a kid with you, and grow old with you. And it's fucking hard, Nick. I used to think the hard stuff was like, the long distance, and falling into bed together, and not knowing what we were. But this is scarier. This is so--so big, and I want it more than anything. It's not gonna go away."

Nick looks slightly blown away, and it's all Harry can do to shrug his shoulders and let out a desperate, slightly hysterical laugh. "So yeah. This is really hard. You're right. But I don't want out." 

"Harry Styles," Nick finally breathes, collapsing forward and and burying his face in Harry's neck. Harry wraps his arms around him so tight, crying into Nick's hair. "I love you so fucking much."

When Harry laughs again it feels slightly more real this time. "I love you too," he whispers, wobbly but so, so sure. "And we're gonna have a baby, however long it takes."

//

They meet Leah two weeks later. 

She’s a twenty-three year old accountant. Perfectly nice, perfectly happy with her long-term boyfriend, just never wanted kids. The agency connected them, and then it seemed like after no time at all she’s pulling up to their house to meet them. 

Nick’s all aflutter, nervous, having called off work for this. He was running around all day, making sure the house was just right and buying fresh flowers for the table and checking up on Harry in the kitchen, absolutely unable to sit down. 

They’ve met a couple other pregnant women, talked about adopting from day one. At the beginning it was their favourite option, and it still sort of is, but Harry thinks they’re probably both a little more flexible now, having a real appreciation for how arduous the process is. 

Anyway, all of the other meetings went well, but there’s just something _about_ this one. Harry feels all wound up, like something in the universe is telling them this may be it. 

Nick runs out to meet her on the street, hugging her and talking all the while as Harry looks out at them from the window, feeling very fond and very, very lucky. Because no matter how tonight works out, he still has _Nick_. 

They have a lovely risotto for dinner that Harry spent the better part of the afternoon preparing, making sure it was just perfect. The mood is light as Nick entertains everyone with his best Radio 1 stories, gets Leah laughing so hard she’s nearly crying. Harry laughs along just as hard, even though he’s heard them all before, feeling somehow giddy and stupid and strangely relaxed. 

They all move out into the garden for dessert. Nick and Harry both have a glass of champagne and Leah has some punch Harry made especially. Pig runs circles around the flowerbeds and Leah tells them all about her situation, her job, her boyfriend. What it’s like to be six months pregnant. She knows who Nick is, says she listened to him on Breakfast but always works too late to catch his show now, says to tell Fifi she says hi. She doesn’t ask about One Direction much beyond a polite inquiry about how they all are, and Harry gets the impression she might have been a bit young for them, when they were big, which is strange. Just, he’s not used to being _old_ , but somehow he feels really relieved about it. 

She’s getting ready to leave, putting her coat on and thanking Harry for the leftovers Nick had insisted on sending her home with--”Oh please, take them, otherwise we’ll be eating risotto for days and I’ll be a whale in a week. It’s bathing suit weather soon and no one wants that!”--and it’s a bit awkward, because as many times as they’ve done this they still haven’t mastered this part. What do you say to someone who holds your future in their hands, who could change it all just like that?

“I’m supposed to talk to the agency before I say anything, you know,” Leah says, looking a bit guilty as she smoothes her hand over her stomach. 

Harry nods, trying to keep his voice level even though Nick’s squeezing his fingers so hard it’s making his eyes tear up, a bit. “We understand, don’t worry about it.”

She smiles at them, nods, and then looks up with something mischievous in her eyes. “But, still, I want you guys to know…” and Harry thinks it’s going to be something about how nice they were or how much she loved dinner (even though she’s complimented them a thousand times already), “...you’re it.”

“What?” Harry breathes, frozen, but Nick yelps so loud that he’s not even sure anyone hears him, rushing forward and hugging her tight, Leah laughing. Next thing Harry knows Nick is pulling him into it and he’s _crying_ , and Nick is crying, and even Leah is wiping away a few stray tears and--just like that. 

He can’t even believe it. 

Just like that.

//

After feeling like they were waiting for forever, all of a sudden they only have three months to get everything together, which, in Nick’s opinion, is no time at all. 

“Oh my god, Haz, we have to buy baby clothes, and nappies and shampoo and a cot and a pram and a high-chair and--oh my god, a _nursery_ , jesus, how could we forget that, do we have time to paint the spare room…?”

Harry looks up from staring at his eggs to Nick sitting across from him at the other end of the table, notepad and pen in his hand, furrowed brow directed at Harry. “Are you okay?”

Harry coughs, blinking fast. “Nick, what about--what about us?”

They’ve been together two years, so it’s not exactly a secret. But then again, Harry’s not exactly in the public eye anymore, by any stretch of the imagination. Still, he knows Nick goes out of his way not to name him specifically on the radio or anything like that, just because they’ve had the whole world looking in on their relationship to each other before, speculating about every little second of it, and it’s not something they’d like to repeat. 

“What do you mean?” Nick asks immediately, going a little frozen and stiff in a way that just makes Harry want to reassure him immediately. 

He shrugs. “I dunno. Like--we have to announce it, right? And like, should we get married? I know we talked about figuring it out but, you and I both know it would make things easier with like, the adoption, legally--”

Nick shakes his head immediately. “Harry, I don’t want us to do _anything_ we’re not sure about, not for the sake of making a couple forms a bit easier--”

“But I’m sure,” Harry says, softly, looking down at his folded hands. “Nick, I’m _sure_ I wanna marry you.”

Nick is silent for long enough Harry can feel himself getting anxious. He’s not _used_ to this, he’s used to Nick always chattering away in his ear, he lives for it--is too weak not to look up. 

When he does, there’s Nick looking at him slack-jawed, and Harry has to grin. 

“Harry Styles,” he says, sounding much, much too fond. His lips are starting to slowly curl up into a grin, and Harry has butterflies in his stomach. “Is this you, proposing to me?”

Harry can’t help but shrug, feeling the best kind of smug he’s ever felt. “Dunno. Are you saying yes?”

Nick laughs, shaking his head, rising from his chair to walk over and crawl into Harry’s lap, his shins bracketing Harry’s thighs. Harry’s hands go to his hips, instinctive as Nick takes Harry’s face in both his hands. He’s smiling so much his face hurts. 

“No,” Nick says, still laughing. “No, I’m not letting you get away with this bullshit, plausible-deniability proposal. Go big or go home, popstar.” 

_Popstar_. No one really calls him that anymore, not like they used to. Maybe his sister, but still--it was always Nick; Nick who really came up with it and made it stick. He could make it sarcastic or funny, and there were a few times it came out warning, or bitter, but mostly it was always just so, so warm and kind in a way that always made Harry feel at home. 

“Fine,” Harry says, rising to the challenge as always, leaning in close so their noses are almost brushing. “Nick Grimshaw, will you marry me, even though we only have three months to put a wedding together and more than anything it’ll probably end up just being a big party where we make everyone buy us gifts and take pictures of us all happy--”

“And you’ll get all sappy and give a big speech, and _definitely_ cry--”

“Heyyyyy.”

“And mostly it’ll just be an excuse for our minging friends to get drunk?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, laugh bubbling up in his voice. “Yeah, that. What do you think?”

Nick moves in closer, just slightly, but enough to make Harry a bit breathless. “Okay,” he murmurs, his lips mere centimeters from Harry’s. “Okay, let’s do it.”

It’s not the reaction he expected to have, but next thing Harry is throwing his head back and laughing, hard, and Nick’s following along, shaking with the force of it as he buries his head in Harry’s neck as the two of them absolutely lose it like a couple of idiots. 

Because only _they_ would do it this way, on a crazy stupid amount of time and on a whim, and yeah, it’s probably downright batshit. They’ll probably piss off a bunch of people in the process--caterers and decorators and everyone who’ll have to move their schedules to accommodate them, but hey. This is the way it’s always been, right? Timing has never been their strong suit. 

But mostly, it’s important because even now, when he’s kissing Nick breathless, catching his happy, half-laugh gasps between his lips--he knows this is what he will remember. 

He doesn’t remember the phone call Nick makes to his publicist tomorrow, where he basically says fuck it, tell them everything--yes, a baby, yes, with Harry Styles, once a member of One Direction, currently writing a solo album with tons of great collaborators including some former bandmates, and oh yeah, we’re also engaged. (He does remember sitting on the bed, laughing until he cries as he watches Nick’s face as he tries to remain patient, explaining it to this poor, long-suffering woman.)

He doesn’t remember the headache the paparazzi become, after the announcement, following them everywhere and shouting invasive questions about everything to do with the baby. (He does remember Nick holding his hand so tight through every single encounter, sunglasses on and jaw set.)

He doesn’t remember the drama from the tabloids over who was “snubbed” in not getting an invite. He doesn’t remember the last-minute frenzy about how they probably didn’t hire enough security, and some crazy people try to sneak in. He doesn’t remember the Twitter abuse, or the boys nearly giving him a heart attack when they surprise-kidnap him for his stag do, or the way people are reporting on it like they’re both dried up, tired out, on the edge of irrelevance. 

He _does_ remember saying his vows in a lovely garden venue his sister discovered, happy tears welling in his eyes as Nick took his hands across the aisle, gentle breeze in his hair and equally misty, surrounded by only their close friends and family. 

He remembers the massive party afterwards, where Nick’s best friends gave hilarious, half-drunk toasts and his bandmates doing half a joking, purposefully tone-deaf version of “Moments” before Ed shoos them off-stage. He remembers the Ed’s announcement that he’d collaborated with the boys on a surprise wedding present, only to bring out none other than the legendary _Paul McCartney_ to sing “The Long and Winding Road” for the married couple’s first dance, and Harry subsequently bursting into tears, Nick laughing and ushering him onto the dance floor and wiping the tears from his cheeks as they sway. (Because of course somehow, someone they knew figured out exactly what that old tweet meant. Their friends are meddlers like that.)

And he remembers this--kissing Nick happier than ever as the early morning light pours in the windows around them and their breakfasts go cold.

//

The first look at their daughter is through one of those big, nursery windows in hospitals that husbands traditionally stand around and try to remember which baby is theirs. 

Nick’s got a finger pressed against the glass, counting little cribs until--”That’s her, Haz, right there, look!”

Harry’s pressing forward, grabbing his hand, squeezing into Nick’s space to see her. “Ohhhhh my god,” he sighs, like all the air’s been knocked of him, because their baby is the most precious thing in the whole world. She already has _hair_ , christ, a few dark curls on the top of her downy head, her face wrinkled and pink but peaceful with sleep. 

Harry’s crying messily into his hands then, but his vision blurs even worse when Nick whispers, “Hi, Lucy. Oh god, Harry, she’s gorgeous, look at her.”

And then Harry can’t _stop_ , for what seems like a full two hours in which they are taught how to hold her, how to feed her, the best way to rock her, and in-between all that, asked for their signature on what has to be at least two hundred different forms. 

He’s watching Nick sway back and forth as he holds her, standing right at the edge of Leah’s bed and murmuring to her about something or other in the most soothing, quiet tones in an effort to keep Lucy asleep. Harry’s just outside the room’s door, holding the pack of crisps Nick begged him to go get a little while ago, and his eyelids are drooping a bit but he’s in awe of the way Nick is just _glowing_ , and the fact that this is their lives now. 

They have a _kid_. It comes to him in the most surreal, wonderful moments. 

“So cute,” a woman standing behind him says, watching him watch Nick, and Harry goes red, sheepish. 

“Oh, sorry, am I in your way?”

“Not at all, I was just watching, it’s wonderful. Is this your first?” She has long, silvery-gray hair and kind eyes, a soft smile. 

“Yes,” Harry says, grinning. “Thanks.”

“I thought maybe, you look so young to be a father.”

Part of Harry wants to laugh because he thinks of his own mother, and Louis, and how in Harry’s life, age has generally not turned out to mean a single fucking thing, but instead he just bites his lip, smiles. “Well, my partner’s older, so, hopefully it balances out.”

She nods sagely. “How long have you been together?”

“Two years. Actually, we just got married a week ago.”

“Well, congratulations. And best of luck with the little one, of course,” she says, sparing him one more kind smile before continuing on. 

And it’s lovely, he thinks, as he strides inside and wraps his arms around Nick’s waist, kissing the top of his spine. Because he feels so much older than he thought he’d be, when the two of them figured everything out. And how strangely wonderful it is, to have a random moment with someone like that, a complete stranger who has no idea who you are and still wishes you all the best. 

“Thank you, Harry,” Nick whispers, both of them looking down at Lucy.

Harry is too choked up to correct him, to thank Nick--for this chance, for being patient, for pushing him to do more and be braver than he ever could be on his own. 

It’s a truly sunny day in London, a noteworthy occurrence, and yet, there are too many wonderful things happening right now, his life unspooling right in front of him, for Harry to even take notice. 

//


End file.
